


beg the bee's forgiveness (as it's falling from your sleeve)

by gollumgollum



Category: Justified
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gollumgollum/pseuds/gollumgollum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Been a while?" Raylan asks, licking over the fleur-de-lis just to make Tim shiver.</p>
<p>"Something like that," Tim says, and Raylan is gratified by how breathless he sounds. "I ain't got any exes around here to keep me in shape, unlike some people."</p>
            </blockquote>





	beg the bee's forgiveness (as it's falling from your sleeve)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic for my [Trope Bingo](http://gollumgollum.livejournal.com/1267078.html), woohoo! But you have to read to find out which, because i don't wanna spoil it. This is also basically PWP, although y'all know i couldn't help but get some feels in there too. Set towards the end of Season 3, after Episode 8 but before the finale.
> 
> My endless gratitude to [wldnst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wldnst/pseuds/wldnst), [LariaGwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LariaGwyn/pseuds/LariaGwyn), and [alierakieron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alierakieron/pseuds/alierakieron) for their excellent beta skills. They're a pretty awesome team, and i'm lucky to have them.
> 
> Title from TV On The Radio's "Let The Devil In."

"You're always so _unimpressed_ ," Raylan says, halfheartedly glaring at Tim across the table. He sounds almost petulant, but it's fucking true, even now--Tim just looks back at him with that distinct twist to his lips, that look that says _you're gonna have to try harder than that._ Raylan's got enough damage of his own to know that look for what it is, to know what armor looks like. He wonders how it looked on Tim when he was in the barren mountains of the Hindu Kush. "It's fucking frustrating, is what it is."

Tim's lips quirk slightly, one corner of his mouth tugging up, but then he pushes himself to his feet and picks up his empty glass before snagging Raylan's. He pauses on his way to the bar to lean down next to Raylan, puts his mouth right next to his ear. "Then do something impressive."

And Raylan watches Tim walk to the bar, narrow hips and contained violence, watches long fingers that can caress a trigger like a lover as they push the glasses across the bar and raise to signal for more. Despite it being his idea, Raylan's not sure why they're here getting drunk. Probably because Raylan's the king of stupid ideas, of setting fire to the things he loves; he's lost Ava, he's lost Helen, and now he's lost Winona, and maybe he's trying to keep losing or maybe he's clinging hard as he can to what he has left.

He looks away as Tim comes back, trying not to get caught staring. It's probably too late for that, but Raylan's never been good at being honest with himself. Tim slides a glass of whiskey across the table to him and sits back down, leaning back in his chair in a calculated sprawl as he watches Raylan. "Think of anything yet?"

"I don't suppose trying to drink you under the table counts?" Raylan asks, lifting his glass and tilting it towards Tim before taking a sip. The whiskey's stopped burning, which says something, probably not anything good, about how much they've already had to drink.

Tim snorts at that, actually looking amused if still somehow disappointed. "Raylan, I am an Army Ranger," he says with the overprecise pronunciation of the truly intoxicated; Raylan notices the tense-- _am_ , not _was_ \--but says nothing, simply files it away for later. "You do realize that you're going to have to drink enough to stop breathing before you even get in the same _neighborhood_ as some of the feats of liver failure I've seen?"

Raylan concedes with a nod of his head; he can drink, but he's sure it doesn't come close to equaling some of the benders Tim's seen or been on. He considers suggesting pool, but trying to outmaneuver the angles against a man who can do the math required to accurately shoot someone from a mile away seems a fool's errand. Tim takes a long sip from his glass, still just watching Raylan, waiting. So Raylan downs his own drink in one go, wipes his mouth, and leans forward, pinning Tim with laserlike intensity as he goes all in. "D'you wanna get out of here?"

Tim holds his gaze for an extended moment, long enough that Raylan thinks he's fucked this up too--then finishes his own drink in a long swallow and pushes up from his chair. "After you."

"My place or yours?" Raylan asks once they've pushed through the door and into the cool, thick Lexington night.

"I've seen what you consider adequate living conditions," Tim shoots back. "No offense, but I think I'd rather sleep in Afghanistan again than go to your place. Less likely to be shot at, at least."

Raylan bumps him deliberately, if sloppily, shoulder jostling shoulder. "After _you_ , then, Ranger."

Tim's place is within walking distance and about as spartan as Raylan expected. What he hadn't expected was for Tim to get squirrelly once they get inside. He locks the door behind them and leans back against it, looking at Raylan like he's not quite sure why he's there. "You want a drink?"

"I'm good," Raylan replies, taking off his hat. He studies Tim for a second, trying to decide whether to be bold or pretend that he's just here to hang out, that they're not about to do something drunk and stupid, and ultimately settles on the middle ground. "This still something you wanna do?"

Tim swallows, nods, his eyes never leaving Raylan, and something he sees in Raylan's expression must ground him, because he goes from looking like he might bolt to looking like he isn't quite sure why they're still wearing clothing. "Yeah," he says, a little quiet, a little rough, but confident as he nods at Raylan's hands, "but I'm gonna need you to put that hat back on."

Raylan raises an eyebrow, losing the fight to keep his amusement from his eyes as he does as he's told. "The hat, huh?"

"Yep," Tim says, meeting his gaze head on.

"I'd better not ever lose it, then," Raylan says, taking a deliberate step forward. "Otherwise I don't know how I'd get laid."

"It would be a tragedy," Tim agrees, and as Raylan closes the gap Tim fists a hand in the front of his shirt and reels him in.

The kiss is messy; they're drunk and handsy, and neither one of them the kind to sit back and let someone else drive. Tim leaves one hand tangled in Raylan's shirt, the other one skirting over his shoulders, the back of his neck, down his ribs, like he doesn't know what to do with it. Raylan doesn't have that problem, catching Tim's hips and pressing them back against the door, pinning him there. Tim sucks in a harsh breath at that, kissing him harder.

Raylan gets Tim's shirt off first, and he drops his head to mouth at the dark fleur-de-lis inked on the right side of Tim's chest. Tim shudders, his head thunking back against the door, fingers tightening in the short hair at the back of Raylan's neck as Raylan's tongue swirls over his skin. Raylan's hat is half-off his head, pushing against Tim's collarbone, but neither of them pay it any mind. "Jesus," Tim murmurs as Raylan's teeth scrape over his ink.

Raylan lifts his head to grin at him as he licks a long, slow stripe over the tattoo, watching Tim shudder again. "No one ever do that before?"

Tim grimaces, there and gone again, and the only reason Raylan sees it is because he's looking at him. "Bedroom," Tim says instead of answering. "I don't wanna hear the shit you'll give me if I come in my pants in the doorway."

"Is that likely to happen?" Raylan teases between kisses as Tim steers him backwards, both of them stumbling a bit.

"Not anymore," Tim points out, tugging at the buttons of Raylan's shirt as they reach the bed and fall to the mattress in a tangle of limbs.

Raylan rolls them over so that he's on top, straddling Tim's thighs. He shrugs out of his shirt and leans forward just in time to catch himself as Tim's hips thrust against his, almost involuntarily. "Best get you out of your pants, then," Raylan says, fingers going to work on Tim's belt as Tim kicks his boots off. Another flash of ink gains his attention, and he catches Tim's flailing right hand with his lips, sucking his trigger finger into his mouth. Tim moans as Raylan's tongue slides over the callus there.

"Lift," Raylan murmurs, tapping Tim's hip even as his mouth slides down the inside of his wrist, chasing the rifle tattoo on the soft skin of his inner arm. Tim does as he's told, letting Raylan tug his pants down and off. The look he gives Raylan is hooded, suddenly, as if in letting Raylan expose him he feels like he needs to hide something else. "Hey," Raylan says, nipping at Tim's skin hard enough to make him hiss. "Still with me?"

Tim nods, although there's still something in his expression that makes Raylan think he's ready to run. Raylan pauses with his fingers on the elastic of Tim's boxers--then slides his hands up instead of down, running them up across his stomach to ghost over his nipples and then back down his arms. Tim's eyes flutter shut with a soft sigh as he tenses then relaxes against the sheets. He nods again. "Still here," he murmurs.

Raylan leans forward and kisses him, soft and sweet. Tim opens up beneath his lips, letting Raylan lick into his mouth with a quiet whimper, one hand coming up to thread through Raylan's hair. A second later he's snagged the hat from Raylan's head. "You think you can still keep up with me without your secret weapon?"

There's something fragile beneath his words, but Tim's eyes and hands are as steady as ever as he drops the hat on the bedside table. Raylan gives him a slow smirk. "I think I'm up to the challenge."

Tim smirks right back. "Knock yourself out, cowboy."

"Oh, I'm not the one I'm planning to knock out," Raylan says, all saucy-like, and before Tim can answer he licks, sucks and bites his way down his neck. Tim arches beneath him, biting off a curse, his hands scrabbling on the sheets before coming to rest on Raylan's ribs, almost tentative. "Jesus," he says again, fingers twitching against Raylan's skin.

"Been a while?" Raylan asks, licking over the fleur-de-lis just to make Tim shiver.

"Something like that," Tim says, and Raylan is gratified by how breathless he sounds. "I ain't got any exes around here to keep me in shape, unlike some people." Raylan grins against his skin, biting him for the dig; Tim hiccups out a laugh crossed with a gasp.

He gentles as he gets lower, though, pressing a string of soft kisses to Tim's stomach, lips brushing over his hipbones as he hooks his fingers into his boxers and slides them down. He pauses as he gets them to Tim's knees, sitting back on his heels and tipping his head as he takes in the unexpected sight, amusement sliding across his face. "Why, Deputy U.S. Marshal Gutterson," he says, putting every inch of Harlan into his voice. "That is _not_ what I was expectin' to see."

Tim lifts his head, consternation writ clear on his face. "Wha--" He stops as Raylan traces the marshal's star tattooed on his left hip with one thumb, then lets his head thunk back against the bed. A second later he thwaps Raylan with the pillow. "Raylan Givens, that is not what you say when you pull a man's pants down!"

Raylan laughs, taking the hit. "What, you run out and get that the moment you graduated Glynco?"

"Shut up." Tim kicks him in the ribs. "Like you can't tell me that you don't have any cowboy fantasies, Deputy Marshal Ten Gallon Hat."

"You may have a point," Raylan concedes, stroking over the tattoo again.

Tim hits him with the pillow again. "Here you had me thinking there was something wrong with my dick."

"No," Raylan says, and licks a long stripe up his cock, just to prove it. Tim's head falls back against the bed again with a soft cry. "Nothing wrong here."

"Glad to--oh-- _fuck--_ " Anything else Tim might have to say disappears as Raylan swallows him down.

It's been a while since Raylan's practiced his blowjob skills, but he's still pretty confident in his abilities. That said, he didn't think he was _that_ good, but Tim's coming apart under his tongue in a matter of minutes. He pins Tim's hips down against the bed, thumb covering the marshal's star as he swallows him down, and that's it--a hand tangling in his hair is the only warning he gets before Tim's coming with a strangled cry, back arching and his free hand twisting in the sheets.

Tim's actually shaking once Raylan pulls off, one arm thrown over his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. Raylan slowly kisses his way back up his body, his lips brushing their way across the star, then up to the fleur-de-lis, and finally gently pressing against the rifle on Tim's forearm before he lifts the arm away from his face so that he can kiss him on the lips. Tim lets him, all but boneless against the mattress. "That was... even better than I thought it would be," Tim says finally.

Raylan pauses, not sure if he should be offended or not. "You been out gathering information on me, or is that just a judgement based on my character?"

He expects a snarky retort, but maybe the orgasm has shorted out Tim's defenses, because instead he blushes all the way up to his hairline and halfway down his chest, and tenses like he's going to run. "Um. Neither?"

And now Raylan's Marshal senses are tingling; there's something that doesn't sit right about Tim's reaction, especially considering he's never seen him blush until right this moment. He takes a deep breath, puts all of his weight behind his dubious, 'we both know there's something you're not telling me' tone that works so well on perpetrators, drawing his name out in a long syllable. "Tim?"

Tim sits up, studiously avoiding Raylan's eyes as he runs a hand through his messy hair. "Shit," he swears, bracing his elbows against his bent knees and letting his arms dangle.

"Okay, now you got me worried," Raylan says, sitting back on his heels.

"It's not--It's got nothing to do with you," Tim says, shaking his head. "Just that I, uh--" If anything, his blush is deeper. "Never did that before."

Raylan blinks. And blinks again as he realizes what Tim's saying. "What, with anyone?"

Tim runs a hand over his face. "Yeah."

"Seriously?"

"You do remember I was in the Army during this little thing called 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell,' right?" Tim snaps, and that's at least oddly comforting--snarky, defensive Tim is easier to understand than shy, awkward Tim.

"Well yeah, but you weren't always in the Army."

"My dad caught me," Tim says in a low voice, looking away. "When I was fifteen, with the first guy I'd ever kissed. We weren't even doing much, but--" He cuts himself off, lacing his fingers together. "Let's just say he didn't give me the chance to try again. And then after the Army, I went to Glynco, where I sure as hell wasn't gonna sleep with anyone, and then I came to Kentucky, which is not exactly a bastion of open-mindedness." He makes a face. "Besides, I kind of had this fear that I'd sleep with someone I had to chase down for work the next day. Not sure why, but that one took a while to get over."

"So when you say you've never done that before, you pretty much mean you've never done _any_ of it before, 'cept some kissing?"

Tim nods. "Yep."

"Shit," Raylan says. He's at something of a loss.

"Yeah," Tim agrees. He looks almost angry for a second, then he just looks defeated. "Shit."

Raylan considers for a minute, then raises an eyebrow. "Well then. That just means we have a lot of ground to cover tonight."

Tim holds his hands up. "I don't want any char--" The rest of whatever he's going to say gets swallowed as Raylan kisses him again, pressing him back against the mattress. Tim goes willingly, his hands landing on Raylan's hips with more assurance this time.

"I just have one question," Raylan murmurs. "You impressed yet?"

Tim grins against his lips, hands coming to Raylan's belt. "Well, I ain't got your pants off yet."

"Knock yourself out, cowboy," Raylan teases.

"Oh, is that how it's gonna be?" Tim rolls them over and licks his lips, looking at Raylan like he's seeing him for the first time. Raylan lets him, his hands running up and down Tim's sides in wordless reassurance. "Got any requests?" Tim asks as he unbuttons Raylan's fly.

"Nope. You go ahead and do whatever you wanna do," Raylan says, lifting his hips so Tim can slide his jeans down.

Tim doesn't say anything, just runs his fingers over the outline of Raylan's cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. Raylan lets his eyes slip shut, fingers still trailing over Tim's ribs. He's content to let Tim explore, now that he knows that this is the first time Tim's ever had the chance; he can't imagine what that's like, to deprive yourself for as long as Tim has. If nothing else, he's earned the opportunity to take as much time as he goddamn wants.

"You're awful quiet," Tim says as he slips his fingers beneath the waistband of Raylan's shorts, carefully pulling them down.

"I wasn't aware we were at the hollerin' and moanin' part yet," Raylan teases with a crooked smile. "You want any pointers?"

"Don't worry. We had plenty of porn in the Army," Tim says dryly, fingers sliding over Raylan's bare cock just as lightly as they had before. "I think I can figure something out."

"You got any questions, you just holler."

"Raylan?"

"Yes?"

Tim's fingers wrap around his cock. "Shut up."

Raylan does as he's told, partly because any hesitation that might have existed on Tim's part has evaporated in a long, sure stroke of his cock, partly because the fingers of Tim's other hand are pressing against his lips, looking for entrance. Raylan opens for him, teasing at the pads of his first two fingers with the tip of his tongue. This is Tim's left hand, and it's callused in entirely different ways from his right. Tim's still got his watch on, the face turned to the inside of his wrist like usual, and it's cool against Raylan's chin as he sucks Tim's fingers fully into his mouth. Tim sets up a slow but steady pace, jacking Raylan with long, maddening strokes, twisting his wrist just so. Considering it's the first time he's ever touched someone else's dick, he's not half bad.

Tim slips his fingers from Raylan's mouth with a soft sigh, leaning forward to replace them with his mouth as he lets his slippery fingers trail down Raylan's chest, tweaking one nipple. "You like being bitten as much as you like biting?" he asks, nipping Raylan's lower lip.

"More, actually," Raylan admits.

Tim hums wordlessly at that, teeth raking over the stubble on Raylan's chin as he follows the path his fingers took. "How much would you kill me if I left marks where Art could see them?" he asks, scraping against Raylan's neck with his own stubble.

"Oh, I wouldn't kill you," Raylan says easily. "I'd just mark you right back and let you explain that one. Right here," he traces a spot on the right side of Tim's neck, "where he'd see it every time he looked up from his desk."

Tim sinks his teeth into the meat just above Raylan's collarbone in answer, his still-moving hand tightening on Raylan's cock. Raylan inhales sharply at the bite's burn, fingers tangling in Tim's hair as he bucks up into Tim's hand. The sting is soothed a second later by Tim's tongue, warm and wet as he licks over the bite. "It's probably not good that I'm a little tempted to let you, just to see Art's head explode."

"Probably not," Raylan agrees, his breath hitching as Tim bites him again. "He'd probably blame me for being a bad influence, though."

"Especially once I told him about you deflowering me," Tim says, grazing his teeth over Raylan's nipple.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

Raylan tugs lightly at Tim's hair, wringing a satisfied grunt out of him. "Why are we talking about Art?"

Tim swirls his tongue along the edge of Raylan's ribcage. "Mmm. I see your point."

"Thank you," Raylan says, then flinches as Tim drops his head and sucks a bruise into his hip, right in the spot where his badge will hit it in the morning. "Oh, you bastard."

"Payback's a bitch," Tim grins, entirely too pleased with himself. Raylan pulls his hair again just to be mean, although it seems to have the opposite effect, Tim's eyes fluttering closed as his hand tightens on Raylan's cock. "Okay, yeah," Tim murmurs, "you can definitely do that some more."

"New kink?" Raylan asks, twisting his fingers hard enough to arch Tim's head back, baring the long line of his throat.

"Uh-huh." Tim swallows, hard.

"You want me to keep doing that?" Raylan tugs again. It's hard to resist the urge, the way Tim reacts.

"Just as soon as I get my mouth on your dick," Tim says, moving to do just that.

Raylan stops him with the hand in his hair. "Hang on," he says, pushing himself up with his other arm. "I wanna watch you."

Tim waits until Raylan loosens his grip, then ducks his head. His mouth is warm and wet, and Raylan has to bite his own lip to keep from bucking into it. "Christ," he mutters; Tim's hand tightens against the base of his cock, the other one wrapping around his hip, thumb pressing against the bruise he left there.

Raylan tugs Tim's head backwards hard enough to tilt his chin up. Tim takes the hint, arching his neck, gray-blue eyes rising to meet Raylan's almost in challenge. They stare each other down as Tim swallows him again, his eyes focused and intense. Raylan wants so badly to run his thumb along Tim's lower lip, to feel his cock sliding in and out of that mouth, but one arm's propping him up and he's pretty sure Tim will stop if he lets go of his hair. Instead he plays dirty, thrusting up into Tim's mouth, trying to break his concentration. It doesn't work, though, not even when Raylan does it again, yanking on his hair; Tim moves with him like he's been sucking cock all of his life, letting Raylan fuck into his mouth without protest. "Goddamn," Raylan breathes, letting his head fall backwards; he's not gonna last much longer than Tim did. Tim digs his thumb into the bruise on his hip, a sharp point of pain that pulls Raylan's head back up, and it only takes a few more thrusts before he comes, shuddering and shouting.

Tim chokes a little and sitting upright is taking entirely too much effort, so Raylan lets his hand drop and crashes backwards onto the mattress. Tim crawls up and steals a kiss a moment later, then sprawls onto his back next to him, his head resting on Raylan's upper arm. "Damn, Raylan," he says, winded, "think Art's gonna notice the bald spot you left in my hair?"

"Nah," Raylan says, still a little out of breath himself, "it's on the wrong side. Rachel, though..."

Tim snorts at that. "Shit. I'll have to tell her I tried to cut it myself."

Raylan bends his arm up and runs his fingers through Tim's hair, careful not to jostle him from where he's using that bicep as a pillow. "Just tell her your head's all lumpy from being dropped a lot as a baby. I think she'll buy it."

"You're one to talk," Tim says, elbowing Raylan in the ribs.

"I wasn't the one who got off on someone snatching me bald," Raylan teases, tugging lightly on Tim's hair.

"No, just on me biting the hell out of you," Tim retorts. "Don't think I didn't notice that."

Raylan hums noncommittally, letting his hand drop down from Tim's hair to his chest so that he can trace over the fleur-de-lis with his thumb. "And the tattoo thing?"

"Okay, that was a little unexpected," Tim allows.

"What's the fleur-de-lis for, anyway? I mean, the rifle and the star I get, but what's the story behind this one?" 

"Three leaves to represent 'those who work, those who fight, and those who pray,'" Tim quotes. He shrugs against Raylan's ribs. "Bunch of us went out and got 'em after Ranger School. Seemed a little less cliché than getting the Ranger tab on our shoulders."

"There is that," Raylan says. He cranes his neck a little to look sidelong at Tim. "I didn't think they let virgins get tattoos."

"They do when you sign up to kill people for truth, justice and the American Way," Tim says mildly. "Also, I don't know if you've ever been in a tattoo parlor before, but you don't actually have to show them the punch in your V-card, nor is there a questionnaire about whether or not you've gone all the way that they make you fill out before they fire up the tattoo gun."

"I suppose there wouldn't be." Raylan thinks that he should let it go... except that he's never really been the kind of person to be able to let anything go. "I've gotta admit, I still don't get it."

Tim glances at him. "What, the tattoo?"

"No, the not having sex thing."

Tim takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, looking back up towards the ceiling. "I didn't drink until I was twenty two and had already been to Afghanistan once," he says after a minute. "Even though all of my friends started drinking in high school. Some of that's that I wasn't really allowed out of the house until I got kicked out, some of it was that I was more focused on things like getting my Ranger tab and getting through sniper school and all of that. Some of it was because I came out of a really fundamentalist background, and every time I thought about it I had to shout down the chorus of voices telling me that I was gonna burn in pervert hell for even having those sorts of thoughts." He shrugs again. "It took me a long time to be okay with drinking, and it took me a really long time to be okay with having sex of any kind, much less sex with another man."

"And somehow, you decided I was the best candidate for that?" Raylan can't help but ask.

"Well, to be fair, I am pretty drunk," Tim says, deadpan.

Raylan nudges him. "Seriously, though."

"Seriously?" Tim sighs. "Man, I thought sleeping with dudes meant I never had to talk about my feelings. No, shut up," he says as Raylan starts to protest. "You asked for this. Okay. So, three things. One, I'll admit I'm kind of gambling on the fact that you've got enough shit going on in your life that you're not gonna want to date, much less date someone from the office. I mean, you're pretty enough, don't get me wrong--"

"You think I'm pretty?" Raylan interrupts.

"Shut up, Raylan, you know you're pretty. But pretty or not, I'm not actually looking for a boyfriend here."

"That's fair," Raylan says. "For the record, neither am I."

"Good to know." Tim stretches, pointing his fingers and toes towards the end of the bed. "For another, I figure the odds are about fifty-fifty that I won't get to work tomorrow and discover that you're the next fugitive on my To Be Chased list."

"Hey, that ain't fair," Raylan protests.

"You're right. It's more like sixty-forty. And don't think sleeping with me's gonna earn you any leniency if the FBI decides to haul you in again, neither," Tim needles.

"Is that sixty-forty in favor of me bein' a fugitive, or not bein' a fugitive?"

Tim glances at him. "You tell me."

Raylan makes a face and doesn't deign to give that a proper reply. "Okay, so you said three things. What's the third?"

"I figured that with all the women chasing after you, you had to be at least a little bit good in the sack," Tim says, straightfaced.

Raylan snorts. "And? Was I?"

Tim shrugs. "You were alright."

Raylan knows he's fucking with him, but he still pushes. "Just alright?"

"I'm willing to give you the opportunity to try harder," Tim says, still deadpan. "But if you'd prefer, I can swoon and tell you that you were the best lay of my life?"

"Technically, I was," Raylan grumbles.

"Aww, snookums," Tim teases. "Did you get your feewings--"

This time, Raylan thwaps him with a pillow. "No wonder you never got laid," he says peevishly. "Even if they could get past your winning personality, they'd still have to worry about you shooting them if you broke up."

"No, that's you," Tim returns, grinning. Raylan just shoves him off of his arm, then makes a show of tucking the pillow beneath his own head, grumbling to himself. "And on that note," Tim says lightly, sitting up, "I'm gonna go bunk down on the couch."

Raylan blinks, rising up on one elbow. "I don't mean to kick you out of your own bed."

Tim waves him off. "I sleep on the couch more often than I do in here. It's fine."

"Are you worried I won't keep my hands to myself?" Raylan asks. "Or that I'll hog the covers? Because I have it on very good authority that my bed sharing manners are impeccable."

"Mine aren't," Tim says, matter-of-fact. "I'm not very good at sleeping when it's just me, and it's late enough I'm only gonna get a couple hours anyway. It's nothin' personal, Raylan." One corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. "If you're lucky I'll come back in the morning and let you continue to impress me with your skills."

"If _you're_ lucky, you mean," Raylan says.

Tim's smile softens. "That too." He stands up and snags his boxers off the floor. "G'night, Raylan. Do me a favor and don't sleep with a gun under your pillow tonight. I'd hate to get shot if I decide to wake you up with a blowjob in the morning."

"Got it," Raylan says, stretching out.

"Towels are in the hall closet," Tim says over his shoulder, pulling on his boxers. He pauses in the doorway, though, looking back. "And hey, Raylan?"

"Tim?"

Tim runs a hand through his hair, then meets Raylan's eyes. "Thanks."

"Thank me in the morning," Raylan says, rolling onto his back. "With breakfast."

Tim snorts. "Or a blowjob?"

"That'd do just fine."

**Author's Note:**

> Tim's chest tattoo can be seen [here](http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20110205000161/justified/images/a/a5/Tumblr_lfml5puoXP1qa8ts9o1_500.png); while i'm not positive it's a fleur-de-lis, i liked the symbolism (and couldn't figure out anything else it might be). When discussing it, Tim quotes historian Georges Duby.


End file.
